Less than pretense
by kouw
Summary: Mrs Hughes is bored during the Season, but gets a call from Mr Carson to urgently join him. She doesn't need to be told twice, but what she finds at Grantham House is not all pleasant.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Sometimes, when the going gets tough on a fic, I procrastinate. By writing another fic. I don't even know how a healthy mind is supposed to work anymore… As always: reviews are terribly appreciated. Word of warning: **trope ahead **(but not yet in this chapter)!

Thank you, Deeedeee for being so awesome and indulging me.

* * *

She's lonely, rattling around the house like a lone pea in a pod. She misses her evening wine and chats with Mr Carson, the liveliness of her girls at the table in the Servants' Hall, a young footman torturing the piano (_his_ words, not hers). The family has gone to London, taking everyone with them. Mr Branson has taken Miss Sybbie to Liverpool.

Her skeleton staff has cleaned every nook and cranny of the house, all the rooms have been aired, every carpet whipped. She's sent some of them home to visit with their parents.

It wouldn't be so bad if she had something to occupy herself with. To alleviate the loneliness, the boredom. But the machine that she builds from strong-armed girls and quick-witted boys is too well-oiled, too efficient. If she were to take a white handkerchief and run it over the top of the wardrobes in even the least-used rooms, it would stay pristine.

The letters from Anna and Mr Carson keep her entertained for a few minutes when she reads them and another few when she replies. She's taken inventory of the store cupboard, rearranged her parlour (and put everything back again - but she had found a postcard her sister had sent her seven years before) and she has started to take long walks on the grounds.

Normally her walks are purely practical: they get her from the house to the shops, the post office, church and back again. Now she's walking to the folly and back and at her return nothing has changed - there's not one small calamity, not a single minor problem that needs her attention.

Had Mr Carson been there, he would have kept her spirits up by thinking of odd jobs and keeping her up far too late at night, pouring her wine from his personal collection and telling her tales of his days on the stage (but only after three glasses of Burgundy, or two of port). Had Mrs Patmore been here, she would have had afternoon chats over tea and biscuits, sharing stories of her youth, of boys kissing her in the courtyard when she was a lass just starting out and she'd hear about the old cook, the old housekeeper and Charles Carson as he once was: tall, handsome and filled with duty and purpose (to Elsie he still is all of those things - she adds the rumbling voice that is so unique to him).

Of course it has been wonderful to put her feet up in the middle of the morning, to make herself a cup of tea when the mood strikes, to read her novels (she's already finished three). She misses talking about them to Mr Carson. He doesn't understand her predilection for the more gothic work, the 'unsavoury' (_his_ words, obviously, she doesn't think human nature to be unsavoury, just often misunderstood and pushed into corners where it would naturally rebel), but he always listens attentively, asks her questions about herself, what she thinks, how she relates to the goings-on on the pages.

She is so deep in thought the telephone rings three times before she hears and she jumps up from his chair (she likes it better because it's softer, more comfortable). And it smells a bit of him, makes her feel a little more at home - even after twenty-five years she still doesn't feel like this is her place in the world, her home. Merely a house with a room that holds a bed, a wardrobe, neither of them hers). She reaches the telephone too late: when she picks up there's only the operator on the other side, telling her Mr Carson had tried to reach her. Should she call back?

"Yes, please."

He sounds a bit out of sorts when he picks up and she asks him what's wrong. He counters, asks why she thinks anything is _wrong_.

She laughs at his retort: "Oh, Mr Carson, why else would you call me?"

And she is right: something is wrong. Quite wrong, in fact. Mrs Bute, the reliable housekeeper of Grantham House, has handed in her notice, effective: immediately.

"Well, I never!" Elsie exclaims and she can hear Mr Carson grunt in dismay. "Has she had a better offer?"

Perhaps there's another family offering more money, a bigger house. Maybe Mrs Bute has accepted a proposal of marriage.

"That depends on how you look at things."

"Come now, Mr Carson." It's not a question, she knows he is well aware she is curious and he'll tell her if she pushes him.

"She is going to go to Kenya. As a missionary. Apparently she feels she has saved enough to make it through the end of her life whilst converting unsuspecting…"

She breaks in before he can natter on. "And now you are short a housekeeper."

"Mrs Hughes, I am _always_ short a housekeeper when I'm in London."

A deep blush colours her cheeks.

"Flattery will get you anywhere, Mr Carson."

"Will it get you on the train tomorrow, so you'd be here by teatime?"

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" He sounds terribly put out and she laughs again.

"I need to find someone who'll stay here - with nobody here, who knows what might happen. I don't think Mr Branson will be back anytime soon; he sent a postcard. Miss Sybbie is enjoying having so many cousins to play with."

She doesn't care that her voice is sounding slightly sentimental. It cannot be helped. The little one looks like her mother more and more with each passing day: always hopping and skipping with a bright smile.

"Hmm. I'll send Thomas back then."

"Are you sure you trust him not to sell the whole interior to the highest bidder?"

He heaves a deep, weary sigh. "It's either him or Mr Molesley and with the Dowager here, I prefer having Mr Molesley at hand. For some reason she quite likes him."

"He is a kind man, Mr Carson, and he is very skilled. He is just intimidated by you."

"Me?" He scoffs and she knows that there must be a subtle look of pride on his face now, his chest puffed out a little bit.

"Well, Thomas it is then. You can always call him to ask how things are going."

"So you'll be on the ten-oh-four?" he asks, making sure, always so precise.

She smiles into the receiver: "With bells on, Mr Carson."

* * *

She sits alone for most of her journey, for a moment practically drowning in the flood of people who crowd Victoria station. She holds her worn valise tightly, finds the bus stop and hops on. It's exhilarating to stand pressed between other people after having been practically alone for two whole weeks.

When she reaches her final destination, _he_ is standing there.

"Mrs Hughes, you are a sight for sore eyes."

She blushes, but hides it by handing him her suitcase and turning towards the house, squinting in the sunshine.

"It's still standing, Mr Carson, things cannot be that bad."

"Anna is doing what she can, but she's…" he halts, descends the stairs to the servants' entry.

"What? What's the matter with Anna?"

Her heart is beating too fast all of the sudden, a pressure building upon her breastbone. Anna had written her diligently the past two weeks. What could possibly be wrong?

"I'm not quite sure," Mr Carson starts and holds the door so Elsie can pass. "But she seems a bit under the weather."

He gives her a knowing look and she can feel a smile forming on her lips that she cannot hold back.

"You think she's…"

He shrugs, a kind of 'I'm-only-a-man-what-do-I-know' motion. He leads her through the Servants' Quarters, up to the attics.

"Mrs Bute's old room." He swings the door open and Elsie steps inside, looking at a bright room, a bit bigger than her room at Downton, the wallpaper newer, the bedding of higher quality.

London, she thinks, would be highly preferable if it weren't for the sixteen weeks of stressful goings-on and thirty-six of boredom. Only sixteen weeks of wine and tea and sherry, talk and laughter, advice and a sense of home.

She doesn't think she could stand it.

"Anna's had it cleaned and the linens and such changed. I've aired it the past three days, it should be fine." He looks at her expectantly.

"I'm sure it will all be up to standard, Mr Carson."

His pleased smile warms her and she has to busy herself so he won't see how happy she is to see him, how somehow it's him who makes her feel at home.

"I am right across the corridor, if there's anything you need."

They meet each others' eyes when he says that and Elsie has to bite her lip not to respond to him:

_I need your chest to my back._

_Your arm around my waist._

_Your breath in my hair._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you all for being so nice about the first chapter! Now this second chapter is your introduction to the **trope**. Some of you adore tropes and some are probably a bit annoyed, but please let me know what you think of this chapter, because I LOVE to hear from you!

Thank you, Dee for catching all the screwed up tenses, for weighing in on the difficult decision and for cheering me up.

* * *

Mr Carson had not been lying when he told her Anna was under the weather, but Elsie doubtsAnna is in the family way. No, while Miss Baxter had greeted her in that gentle, unexcitable way and Mr Bates had shaken her hand, Anna had only nodded slowly. Her eyes were dull, her complexion very pale, with bright blushes on her cheeks. There were little drops of perspiration on her forehead and when she picked up her cup of tea, the spoon rattled against the china.

Elsie sent Anna to bed, told Mr Bates to keep a careful eye on his wife.

She took her own cup into the Housekeeper's parlour, pulled out all the ledgers, rotas and schedules, all the correspondence from suppliers and merchants, and made herself familiar with what Mrs Bute had left behind.

Under the closing of the month in each ledger, Mrs Bute had wished her successor well:

_May God bless you and keep you. _

_Best, Millicent Bute_

Anna had needed a bit more than just the blessings from a missionary (for a brief moment Elsie thought of the bugs, the dust, the native people of Kenya who had no need for Christianity any more than they needed mink coats). She had obviously tried her hardest and most everything had gone alright. Except that calculations from yesterday were off.

Quite severely off.

Something was wrong with the girl, that much was clear. She discussed it with Mr Carson when he invited her in for a glass of port after dinner.

* * *

"Now you're here, I'm sure you'd like to see some of the sights. You didn't get much of a chance last year."

She chuckles, holds her glass in a toast to his.

"We went to the beach, Mr Carson, and it was a lovely day out that was appreciated by all."

"Indeed."

They are silent then, sipping their port wine, eyeing the small plate of cheese and biscuits that Mrs Patmore has provided to celebrate Elsie's arrival.

"What would you recommend for me to visit?" she asks as the silence started to linger.

"London is vast, Mrs Hughes, with sights on nearly every corner. There's the Natural History Museum and the British Museum of course; it's very popular with all the treasure coming back from Egypt."

"Are there no sights outside? In the air, I mean?"

"Mrs Hughes, you'll find the air here is not exactly a joy to breathe."

They laugh. They bask in the comfort between them, the ease with which they speak, the certainty of how the other will react. The surprise when they say something out of the ordinary.

"I thought you had your heart set on visiting the Crystal Palace last year."

"I still think it would have made a very good outing, Mrs Hughes."

"There are many good outings in London, as you just said, Mr Carson, and I fully expect you to show me some of the sights now we're both here," she concludes this particular part of their conversation.

* * *

She'd not expected the sight to be the London Hospital*.

But here they are, standing in a hall that smells of Lysol and illness, waiting for a nurse to speak to them; to let them look in on their Anna.

"I'm worried," he confesses.

"I know."

"She's never ill. I only remember her taken to bed with a head cold once. Mr Bates had just joined us."

She can't help but smile at the way his brain works. Every event is connected to something happening in the house; to someone of their pick-and-mix family.

"I'm sure she'll be alright," she says, not as certain as all that, but to reassure him, comfort him.

At long last a nurse comes their way. She turns to face the young woman (who reminds Elsie of Lady Sybil, the other young girls who were part of the war effort when the house turned into a convalescent home) and only then does she notice how close she is standing to Mr Carson. Her arm bumps into his, the tips of his fingers touching her wrist. It warms her more than a soothing cup of tea.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asks and she answers:

"We're here to see Anna Bates."

"Oh, I see. Well, she's a bit frail, only immediate family for now, I'm afraid."

And before she's formed the thought, Elsie blurts it out:

"We're her parents."

She has to admit it: Mr Carson doesn't even flinch. Instead he takes her hand - his is warm and soft and dry.

"Oh! Of course. I didn't see, since she's so fair."

Neither of them responds to that, but they follow the nurse to a room, where they find Anna looking small and white, lying very still in a bed that seems to swallow her.

* * *

They take a seat on either side of the bed and Elsie takes Anna's hand in hers. A small hand that always seems to disappear in Mr Bates's. The skin of Anna's palm feels odd, dry, scaley almost.

"What's wrong with her?" Charles asks and she can feel the fear in his voice, though he is not letting on much.

"We are fairly sure it's scarlet fever." The nurse turns and leaves the room.

This explains the angry blushes, the dry skin, the high fever that seems to only climb. Anna shudders, calls out for her husband.

"Shh… he'll be back soon," Elsie speaks to her girl soothingly and smoothes Anna's hair back from her forehead.

"I don't feel well…" Anna mumbles and retches. Elsie turns, finds a bowl and holds it up, supports Anna as she vomits a tiny bit. The girl starts to cry silently, too worn out to give into it.

"You'll be alright, you're being well looked after." She sidles up closer, tries to hold her.

Anna moans softly, presses her face against Elsie. Elsie looks up to find Mr Carson staring at her, a pained expression on his face.

"How bad do you think it is?" he asks and she sees his worry and for some reason it makes her feel less bad for the little white lie she told the nurse. Anna's parents passed away long ago, she has no-one in the world but her husband. She feels it's her duty to be there for Anna, for the girl who has been under her care for fifteen years. Apparently Mr Carson feels the same.

She manages a tiny smile.

"I'm sure she'll be fine."

She tries her hardest to believe it, as Anna starts to thrash about, the fever spiking.

* * *

* The London Hospital is now also known as 'Barts' (St Bartholomew's) - in the 1990s the London and St Barts merged - before these were two separate hospitals and TRLH didn't get it's 'royal' status until 1990


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for reviewing, following and favoriting. I am so pleased you are not going to come after me with pitchforks.

Thank you, Dee for your solid advice, picking up on all the subtleties ever and frankly being bloody awesome.

* * *

"How is she?" Mr Carson asks immediately when Mr Bates enters the small Servants' Hall after his visit with his wife. It has been three days since Anna was admitted and so far there is not much improvement.

"Much the same, Mr Carson." Mr Bates' answer is quiet and sparse.

"What did they tell you?" Elsie enters the conversation, quickly pouring the poor, worn-out man a cup of tea and placing two biscuits on a plate to help him get through until teatime.

"That we'll have to wait and see. She is on a quiet ward at least."

Elsie had not found the ward very quiet the last time she had visited Anna, but it was better than a tuberculosis wing somewhere in a forgotten sanatorium in the country.

"I'm afraid his Lordship wants to see you, Mr Bates." Charles sounds apologetic and it warms Elsie a little to find that he shows such compassion. He has always been a caring man, a kind man. He comforted Beryl when she had been plagued by cataracts and he had interfered in her life when he had learned she was possibly ill with cancer.

Her hand flies to her breast involuntarily.

She sees him follow her hand, his cheeks colouring slightly. He coughs, takes a big gulp of tea. She worries her lip.

"What do you think, Mrs Hughes?" he asks after an eternity of silence.

"I know Anna is strong, stronger than most. But she is so slight and she had been a little overworked, having to play housekeeper all of a sudden. This was supposed to be a sort of holiday for her. She would only help out when necessary. Nobody expected Mrs Bute to resign so abruptly."

"Indeed," Charles scoffs. "But I am very glad you are here, Mrs Hughes." He clears his throat before continuing: "Very glad indeed."

* * *

"We've moved Mrs Bates," the nurse says when Elsie makes her way to the ward.

"Why? Has anything happened?"

Cold fear creeps into her bones. She shivers.

"No, but there's an old lady in there running a fever. She is delirious and she disturbed Mrs Bates too much. Follow me. She's been asking after you."

"Has she?"

"She keeps asking for her husband and for her mother," the nurse explains and a blush of shame colours angry blotches in Elsie's neck. She is glad she is wearing a shawl; the soft wool hides the proof of her lies.

"Here we are."

The nurse is too cheerful. Too familiar. Elsie doesn't like it, but doesn't say anything when the woman throws open the door and Elsie steps into a small private room that Anna shares with three other beds - only one of them occupied. A young woman lies in the bed, apparently asleep.

"Don't worry if you wake her. She is doing a lot better. She ought to have stopped vomiting by now, but everyone reacts differently to illness of course. Her fever has come down a bit and she has slept through the night. If she asks for a drink, there is water right here," the nurse points at the counter in the corner of the room where there's a jug of fresh water and a small stack of glasses.

"Mum?" Anna's voice sounds weak and the nurse rushes over.

"She's right here, love. I told you she'd come. Now, let's sit you up a bit." The nurse fusses with her patient and Elsie watches, keeping quiet, not wanting to be found out.

"Mum?" Anna looks around, her eyes still dull, squinting into the room.

"Right here, dearie. Now, are you comfortable?" the nurse doesn't wait for an answer, but leaves the room and Elsie approaches the bed.

"Anna?" she asks quietly.

"Mrs Hughes?" Anna's voice sounds cracked, the words are almost unformed. Must be strawberry tongue, Elsie thinks.

"Are you feeling any better at all?"

"I'm so tired…" Anna manages and Elsie kisses her girl's forehead. It's still warm, but not frighteningly so.

"Try to get some sleep then. I'll sit with you for a bit."

"But Mrs Bute is away… she has gone and Mr Carson is… And Mr Bates will be worried where I am…" Anna mumbles, her eyes falling closed.

"Shhh…" Elsie soothes. "Don't worry about any of that. I am here now."

"I'm so glad you're here…" Anna struggles to stay awake.

"Me too."

As Elsie watches her girl sleep, she thinks of all the maids she has nursed in the house. From common colds and back spasms to Spanish flu and sick headaches. She remembers Mr Carson's collapse. She had sat by his bed like she is sitting here now. Her heart heavy, her thoughts on all sorts of terrible scenarios.

She surveys the room, tries not to notice the heavy smell of illness. Her hands are idle and she fidgets. She has not brought anything with her: no newspaper to read or a novel. Not her knitting or even her darning (Mr Carson has a hole in his sock the size of a half crown) - she can only sit here and worry. So far she's not seen a doctor tend to Anna and the nurses are very capable of course, but they don't tell her much.

She's had Anna under her care for over fifteen years. She has seen the slip of girl blossom into a delicate-looking young woman (oh, but looks are deceptive). Her hard-working girl, her sensibly ambitious one. She has always been different from the other maids she hired over the years. Gwen had wanted to better herself (how _upset_ Mr Carson had been - how insulted he had felt. She had been a bit taken aback herself. A girl leaving service to become a secretary? She'd never heard of such a thing, but it was Gwen's choice and she got her lucky break and was living happily now and that was all that mattered). Ethel with stars in her eyes, her big daydreams and the sorrow of promises broken. Elsie doesn't want to think about Edna Braithwaite.

"Is she asleep?"

Elsie turns quickly, her bag falling on the floor.

"Why Mr Carson, you startled me."

"Ah, that must be your guilty conscience," he tries to be flippant and she cannot help but smile at him.

"Perhaps." They've not spoken about her little white lie; it hangs heavy between them, getting more prominent as they ignore it.

"I can't believe that, Mrs Hughes. Unless you are deciding to leave me."

She swallows hard. "I thought you were certain I'd never leave you." _And I won't, not ever, I couldn't._

"Nothing is certain in life, Mrs Hughes. Look at Anna. One day she is fine, the next day she starts to get ill in the mornings and then suddenly she is in here, battling the scarlet fever," he sounds very solemn, thoughtful.

He walks around the bed, pulls up a chair and sits. He takes Anna's hand in his - making it practically disappear. Elsie's heart hurts as she sees them like this. He still doesn't know about Mr Greene (or does he? perhaps he does, she doesn't know, can't be sure, but he is not as oblivious as people think he is) and witnessing this gentle care, this soft, kind side of him makes her wonder how deeply he feels for all of them.

She turns a bit and reaches for him over the bed. He takes her hand with his free one and they hold on, their hands resting on the stark white bedding, feeling the form of their girl under their arms, building her a little cocoon; trying to keep her safe..


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thank you, you are awesome. We're timejumping a few days, so be prepared for that! Wie immer: thank you Dee, you are lovely. Also as per usual: reviews are very much appreciated!

* * *

"Mrs Carson? Mrs Carson!"

A nurse is rushing towards them and Elsie holds her breath, can feel her blush appearing quickly, burning her cheeks. From the corner of her eye she sees Mr Carson bite back a smile. It's been four days since she's claimed they are Anna's parents and they've still not spoken about it.

"Yes?" she says, feeling it is rude not to answer the young woman approaching her.

"I understand you've come to see Mrs Bates."

"We have. Is there anything the matter? I thought she was getting a little better yesterday; her fever didn't seem so high and she was…"

The nurse cuts her off: "Yes, only she's developed an ear infection now and it's a bad one."

Elsie looks at Charles in alarm. They've all heard of people going deaf or blind (or worse, but she doesn't want to consider that, she can't).

"We've made her comfortable, she's gotten a little bit of morphine - I know it is not quite to regulation, but she was in such pain and together with the sore tongue and everything, we thought it best. She may not be as coherent as she normally is."

The nurse walks with them to Anna's room, opens the door and finds the patient in bed, sitting up, with an old, crumpled magazine. The fiery red of her cheeks has eased a bit; her eyes are shining.

"Hello!" Anna's voice is hoarse and her lips look cracked, but Elsie rushes in and gives her girl a soft, gentle cuddle.

"Oh, we've been so worried!" she manages to say.

"I'm sure you were, but I'm alright!" Anna is much too cheerful, much too energetic. The morphine may have done her good when it comes to easing the pain, but this exuberance is not right. Elsie kisses Anna's forehead.

"Oh, my dear! You're burning up!"

"I'll call the nurse." Mr Carson is all practicality and purpose and she loves him for it.

_Loves him._

* * *

"Do you think she'll be alright?" he asks as he helps her into her coat.

"I don't know, Mr Carson." It's hard to admit it.

"She always looks so delicate, but she is very strong. That counts for something, doesn't it?" Like her, he doesn't seem to want to admit that anything could go wrong, that the situation is grave.

"We must warn Mr Bates," she says and stares blankly ahead. She is glad to have Mr Carson with her. She isn't sure she would be able to find Grantham House from the hospital.

"I'll inform his Lordship about the recent developments."

He has taken her arm, gently placed her hand at his elbow. He steadies her as they walk. Their silence starts as comfortable, but grows decidedly awkward when a butcher's boy shouts to Mr Carson. "Hold on to yer Missus, she might fly away!"

_God…_ she thinks. _Why did I say we were Anna's parents. Why didn't I simply say I'm her mother, if I had to tell a lie like that?_

But Mr Carson doesn't let go. Only the flaring of his nostrils show how put out he is by the rude remark.

The bus pulls up and they get on, trying to find a place to sit, but not finding any free spaces. Mr Carson holds on to the handrail but she is too short. She cannot reach and the bus is moving through the busy London streets like a wave throwing itself onto the shore. She starts to panic a little, tries to find anything to hold onto as they turn the corner and she falls against him.

He catches her.

He wraps his arm around her, holds her against him. He is so tall and she stands against his side. If she were to incline her head, it would rest just under his shoulder.

The idea is appallingly appealing.

* * *

The bus takes almost an hour to arrive in Mayfair and Elsie is tired and frustrated and worried. Mr Carson helps her off the bus and takes her basket. Anna has received none of the things Elsie had brought to the hospital. The cards from the staff, the old magazine kindly donated by her Ladyship. The boiled sweets from Daisy (a gift somewhere between childish and cute). When Mr Carson goes to inform Lord Grantham that Anna is not faring well, Elsie speaks to Mr Bates.

Before Anna's attack they had always gotten on well, but his temper when he pushed her to share Anna's secret had damaged that.

"Mr Bates?"

"Yes, Mrs Hughes?" he looked at her and then let his mending fall on the table. "She is worse?"

Elsie nods. "An ear infection. The nurse says it's serious. Her fever is up again too."

"I'll go to her now."

He doesn't wait for a response, but puts away his things.

"Mr Carson has gone up to offer his services to his Lordship," she says to Mr Bates's back.

"Thank you," Mr Bates lets his head hang for a moment before turning and looking at Mrs Hughes. "I thought her tiredness and getting sick were indicating something else."

"I understand," Elsie says and she does. Mr Carson had thought the same. Both men had not looked at the fever, the other outward signs of scarletina. She likes to think she had seen it coming, but she hadn't. Not really.

"She's longing for..." Mr Bates swallows hard.

"I can imagine."

"Ever since I've returned from prison."

"Yes." She doesn't say she's been expecting an announcement every month for years - until she didn't. Until Mr Greene... Her thoughts are disturbed when Mr Bates thanks her, walks past her.

For the first time in a long while she doesn't shiver.

* * *

The house is in turmoil. Everyone worries about Anna. Daisy comes to the Housekeeper's parlour twice to be comforted, Jimmy once to be reassured. Thankfully nobody else has been taken ill so far, but Elsie keeps a watchful eye over everyone.

The house, thankfully, practically runs itself. It's small compared to Downton, but they have nearly a full staff here. It's wonderful to be bringing things up to her standards. She can have every room cleaned and dusted and aired without having to worry them returning to their rooms after breakfast before they're done].

In the evening there's a lovely sherry, some blue cheese biscuits.

A lovely Butler who actively seeks her company. He doesn't come to be comforted or reassured. He sits with her to amuse her, to discuss household matters. To look after her.

Perhaps.

Maybe.

He pours and offers and talks quietly without a word feeling misplaced or heavy-handed.

Until he addresses her directly:

"So. Mrs Carson..."

She bites her lip before answering: "I'm not sure what came over me when I said we're Anna's parents."

He is giving her one of his rare indulgent smiles. "You wanted to see Anna," he says, making it all so simple.

"Yes. Yes, I did. And what of it Mr Carson?"

"Nothing. It was the easiest, quickest way you could get things fixed and that is what you do: you are a quick thinker, you make things work in the blink of an eye."

His compliments make her blood rush. He respects her for her professional capacity, but he is her friend too. _More than a friend._

"I'm sorry the nurse called me Mrs Carson," she says contemplatively, wondering if she really is sorry (_she isn't, she isn't at all_).

"Oh, I didn't mind," he says, looking at his hands.

"Didn't you?"

She holds her breath as she awaits his answer and he looks back up, straight into her eyes. There is something soft in his, something gleaming.

"No. No I did not mind at all."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: T**hank you all for your kindnesses, you are all stars!

FFN is having some serious trouble with their notification system, or even putting reviews up on the site. So if I have not responded to yours, it is because FFN tells me there is no message. Rest assured I've seen it (which is an understatement, seeing I check my email every five minutes for hours on end after posting a fic/chapter) and that I am truly thankful!

**Please don't let FFN ruin your joy in reviewing, because no matter when they come it, I am still thrilled to get them.**

Thank you, Dee for staying up half the night to beta this and teaching me so many new things about English grammar.

* * *

It's early morning when Elsie makes her way to the hospital with a basket filled with small gifts and some clean 'necessities'. She hadn't wanted to bother Mr Bates with her observation that while Anna was being monitored well and getting better, the nurses had not changed his wife's clothing more than twice. Elsie shudders to think her girl was lying in the same nightgown she had on when she was admitted to the 'London' (they are so far from Grantham House, none of the hospitals closer to them having beds free for contagious patients).

"Mrs Carson?"

"Yes?" It's surprising how swiftly she has gotten used to being called this name that isn't hers.

"I'm glad to see you. Mr Bates was here late last night and Mrs Bates wasn't reacting much to his presence, but she has perked up remarkably during the night. She doesn't seem to be in too much pain, but she is… frail. And she keeps throwing up, it's very worrying. So if you can, every cup of tea you can get her to drink would be a great help."

Elsie looks at the nurse. She is a pretty lass, but there are dark circles under her eyes, her hair is mussed under her cap. It's clear to her the hospital is grossly understaffed.

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

"No, just that she's been a little bit vague when I told her that you and Mr Carson had been by every day as well as Mr Bates."

Elsie's heart starts hammering.

"Must be from the fever."

"It's very well possible. Mrs Carson, Mrs Bates is a very petite woman, she doesn't have much to fight with, so like I said before: anything that you can make her drink would be wonderful and if she feels up to it, maybe she can try eating a biscuit?"

Elsie nods and leaves the nurse to tend to her work. Anna is occupying her room alone, but Elsie doesn't doubt the other beds will be filled by teatime.

"Mrs Hughes." Anna sighs, obviously comforted by the sight of her superior, watching her put her basket on the linoleum.

"How are you feeling?" Elsie asks and is only just in time to help Anna as she throws up in the bowl that is conveniently placed on the night stand.

"Better…" Anna mumbles as she tears up.

"Oh, my girl…" Elsie cannot begin to think how painful the vomiting must be with the sore tongue and the lack of solids in her stomach.

"I keep throwing up," Anna's accent is the raw Yorkshire twang it was when the girl came to Downton as a sixteen year old lass. Over time her accent had lessened some, but she never felt the need to work on it more (unlike Elsie - her brogue had been so thick when she started out, her first employer dismissed her because she couldn't understand her).

"Scarlet fever affects everyone differently and you've an ear infection too," Elsie tries to soothe Anna by giving the facts.

"Yes… that must be it…" Anna looks up and Elsie can see the doubt in her eyes. She also sees the grime of a few days lying in bed with nothing more than a few sponge baths to wipe away the worst and while it's not actually bad, Anna doesn't smell… good.

"How about you drink that cup of tea for me and I'll help you getting washed up?" Elsie pushes the cup of tea towards her charge over the nightstand. Anna takes it, slowly bringing the cup to her mouth; she sips carefully, the smallest amounts and Elsie waits patiently, watching her closely, ready to catch the cup if necessary. But all is well, and Anna leans back in her pillows.

"I'll clean this and then I'll come and get you. When we're done, there'll be another cup of tea for you and Mrs Patmore has made some crackers. Says it's the best thing for an upset stomach."

Anna nods. "Thank you," she says simply, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

* * *

The bathroom smells strongly of disinfectant and while Elsie is pleased the hospital is a thoroughly clean one, it is not something you should smell when you are already turning your stomach inside out. She remembers well her mother and sister being exceptionally sensitive to scents and her sister would manage to retch when there was black pudding being cooked the next farm over.

Well, not really of course. But she does run the hot water, then the cold to fix Anna a bath and takes the soap and starts to rub it fiercely between her hands in the water, a thin layer of foam drifting on the small waves she's been creating. The bathroom smells of roses now, the disinfectant in the background only.

"Are you ready?" she asks when she returns to Anna who is holding the empty cup in her hands, resting it on her lap.

"I don't know if I can manage to get up and undressed and all the way to that bathroom, Mrs Hughes," Anna confesses, looking even smaller for a moment.

"Not to worry. You can lean on me and hold my hand. I'll help you undress in the bathroom, it's warm in there now."

She puts her arm around Anna and helps her sit up, lets her slowly swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Waits for the girl to adjust a moment. She supports Anna as she slides off the bed and takes tentative steps towards the bathroom. Elsie puts her arm around Anna's waist, holding her up.

She worries about how to get Anna back in bed after the bath, but decides she can always call for a nurse if need be. She helps Anna undress, seeing she is unable to lift her arms above her head. Everything aches and she is so tired. Every pore seems to ooze fatigue.

Elsie tries not to look, but it's inevitable. Once, when she was Head Housemaid, she would dress the young ladies of the house, run them baths, pat them dry with freshly laundered towels. The pale backs and long limbs so different from her own sturdier ones.

Anna is even frailer than those debutantes. She is a slip of a thing but no little girl: there are curves and slopes, her belly is slightly rounded right under her belly button. Elsie wonders why she isn't blushing, why she is feeling so calm and easy with Anna's nudity.

For a fleeting moment Elsie thinks of her own body (wide of hip - she'd always been - heavy of breast, the skin of her belly no longer taut and her bottom not as firm), wonders if _he_ would touch it reverently, insistently. Lovingly.

Anna is holding on to the tub and Elsie checks the water. It's not too hot - she'd put in another kettle of boiling water if it were for her, but in Anna's condition a hot bath would not be beneficial. She holds her girl's hand as she steps into the tub, lowers herself and sits, with eyes closed, a sigh escaping her.

"This is lovely, Mrs Hughes."

"Good."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thank you, Deeeeeeee for urging me to continue - you are sweet. Thank you everyone for your support, I doubt you'll ever know how much it means to me. You are all stars.

* * *

"Are you comfortable in there?" Elsie asks after Anna has been soaking for a good ten minutes.

"Yes, quite," Anna opens her eyes, manages a smile.

"Not feeling sick?"

"No. It comes and goes in waves. It's worse in the mornings and late at night."

Elsie files the information away and changes positions on her hard seat. "I was thinking of washing your hair."

"Oh, would you?" Anna is visibly comforted by the idea.

With those words, Elsie sets to work. She untangles the hair from its messy braid, carefully pours warm water from the bath over it. She has a bottle of coconut oil shampoo in her basket and she goes to retrieve it. When she returns Anna is still enjoying the water and the sense of getting clean again.

As she lathers Anna's fine, blonde hair, she thinks how all of this comes so easily to her, whilst in the whole of her life she has not truly bathed another person. She finds she is humming a tune under her breath: a song her mother used to sing, long long ago.

She rinses Anna's hair and helps her out of the tub, gently wrapping the girl in the towel provided. There's another towel and while Anna sits, Elsie dries her hair, combs it, braids it (it doesn't matter the hair is wet; Anna is not going to be back on her feet anytime soon, the only ones seeing her are Mr Bates and the nurses). Anna leans heavily against her.

"Let's get you in your clean things…" Elsie says and pulls the nightgown over Anna's head, helps her step into the modern knickers Elsie has seen in magazines only so far (and in the laundry of course, just not in her own wardrobe yet and perhaps it's time, maybe she should just give in, what does she have to lose?). She only just manages to catch her girl as she slumps into her arms of pure exhaustion.

* * *

Never before has she been so pleased to hear his footsteps coming near. She calls out to him:

"Mr Carson! Mr Carson, we're in here, could you help us please?" she tries to keep her voice even, not to let the panic through, but he must have heard it, because the echoing steps are speeding up and he stops in front of the closed door.

He coughs. She knows he is trying to calculate how to go about this.

"We are both quite decent, Mr Carson," she announces and it's partially true; he doesn't need to know about all the _indecent_ things she has been thinking of for longer than she remembers (that she wonders about the colour of his chest hair, that she craves his touch when they make up after a fight).

The door opens then and he immediately understands the situation: Elsie standing behind Anna, holding her up so she won't fall to the floor and he is beside the girl, lifting her up into his arms. Anna lays her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry…" she mumbles. "I'm so sorry…"

Elsie cannot make out the words Charles rumbles, but they are soothing and soft. He carries Anna to the bed and puts her down slowly, helps her settle. He must think Elsie doesn't see him, because he runs the back of his fingers across Anna's cheek, her eyes fluttering closed.

"You just rest," he says and sits down on the chair that Elsie had occupied earlier.

"Anna needs to drink at least one more cup of tea before we leave," she tells him. She knows he has heard her coming; he's not showing any signs of her having startled him.

"I'm not asleep," Anna says, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Well, then let me help you with that cuppa. Mrs Patmore has made you some crackers, will you please try to eat one?"

"I don't know…"

"You must try, Anna," Mr Carson's voice is a mixture of begging and commanding. He sounds like a father, _like Anna's father_ and a shiver runs down Elsie's spine - towards somewhere she daren't admit to.

"Alright. I'll try, because you want me to, Mr Carson."

There's a twinkle in Anna's eye - Elsie sees it clearly. It's a naughty little shimmering that had been absent the past week and her heart makes a little jump at it. She delves into the basket and takes out the tin, opens it, hands Anna the small wafer.

"Everyone sends their love, Anna. They are all worried about you. Lady Grantham has given me some magazines for you and Daisy bought you some sweets."

She puts everything on the night stand.

"That is very sweet of Daisy," Anna eyes the small paper bag. "My mouth feels so strange and I keep tasting something bitter. I'll be glad for something sweet."

Elsie catches Mr Carson's eye and he smiles. For a moment she doesn't know where to look, looks away and back again.

"The nurse tells me my parents have been visiting me every day," Anna breaks the silence with a little knowing smile, "which is quite odd since my parents are both gone. And I also don't remember them being called 'Carson'..."

Elsie's sharp intake of breath makes her cough suddenly. Mr Carson saves her:

"Mrs Hughes felt you would need someone to look after you a bit when Mr Bates couldn't. She didn't want you to be alone too much, so she lied to the nurse."

The truth is out now. At least Anna _knows_.

Anna is looking from Mr Carson to Elsie and back again before speaking.

"The nurse said I kept asking for my mother and that when you came to sit with me, I started to improve a bit."

"I'm sure that was just a coincidence," Elsie answers, denying the implications.

* * *

She has responded to all the merchants' letters and has put aside the invoices that need to be paid. She has tallied her ledgers and made a work schedule for the next day. She's had her talk with Lady Grantham (about Anna, about the running of the house - Elsie is glad they are not entertaining much since none of the young ladies are coming out or trying to attract a husband) and she leans back in her chair, the rods digging painfully into her shoulders. Her corset is bothering her, her left garter is sure to give out soon.

"Mrs Hughes?"

Mr Carson stands in the doorway with a decanter of sherry in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"You've come to fetch me?" she asks and is warmed by his slow, assuring nod.

"You are working too hard," he responds.

"Don't worry, Mr Carson. Grantham House is an easy house to run with plenty of servants to take care of everything. If I had as many at my disposal at Downton, my life would be thát much easier."

She sighs. She is feeling the tension in her neck, the fatigue creeping up in her joints.

"Won't you please come and sit with me? I'll let you have my chair," he offers and she laughs softly.

"I think I will, Mr Carson.

She follows him, allows him to pour her a nice glass, sips from it. She muses that it's not the actual sherry that comforts her or warms her; it's his presence. It's his voice that soothes her. His bulk, so solid and dependable in the chair across from her. She imagines how she would lie beside him, her belly pressed against his back, her arm around his waist. How she would kiss him wherever she could. She thinks there might be freckles and scars scattered across his skin, that there will be a contrast between the colour of his hands and wrists and the inside of his forearm.

"I don't think it was a coincidence Anna's temperature dropped, Mrs Hughes," he rouses her from her thoughts.

"You don't?"

"No. I think we all need you more than you know."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you all! I am so pleased you are enjoying the slow burn and the sense of family. Time for a little bit of gentle drama, methinks ;) As always: your reviews are terribly appreciated, so don't hesitate to drop me a line!

Thank you, Dee for all the advice and help and so many apologies for screwing up your sleeping patterns. Timezones man, they're stoooopid.

* * *

"Mrs Hughes? If you have a moment?"

Mr Bates is standing in the doorway, his hand grasping his cane tightly, the knuckles white.

"Of course, Mr Bates," she stands up from her chair, puts down her pencil. She has been working on the linen rota. Mrs Bute used a different system and it's taking some energy to get acquainted with it after having used her own for so many years. It's tiring her out more than she cares for.

"I'm worried about Anna," he says, his jaw set.

"She was doing much better yesterday," Elsie offers. It's been a week since Anna was admitted, two days since she's given her girl a bath.

"She keeps throwing up. The doctor keeps asking me questions I don't know the answer to."

Elsie shakes her head a little. "What kind of questions?" she asks and finds Mr Bates staring at his shoes. She smiles.

"I see. I'm sorry, but that is something I cannot help you with. Since you've moved to the cottage, Anna takes care of your laundry herself."

"You don't remember when the last time was when she seemed a bit… off?"

Elsie doesn't understand how men think how all women must somehow sense when another woman is having her menses. For years women labour to hide this recurring biological circumstance from everyone and most of them succeed. She wants to roll her eyes at him, but he is looking almost pitiful standing there just inside the room, dark circles under his eyes from worry and lack of sleep.

"No, Mr Bates. Anna never lets on much," she says instead.

She wonders why the man doesn't remember it himself. He lives with Anna; they sleep in the same bed. She assumes they are intimate together.

She doubts Mr Carson would be likely to forget such a thing.

But Mr Carson is more observant, more attuned to routine (and it was a routine, drudgery almost, one week in every four filled with discomfort and unease and all for nothing). He would have seen something was wrong with his wife. He would have noticed that her being sick and tired would have nothing to do with the coming of a child; he would have felt the fever radiate from her body as he lay next to her. He would have felt the dry skin on her belly, the irregularity of the rash as it broke out on her chest.

"She's a fighter."

His words shake her from the thoughts of Mr Carson's fingers dancing over her chest and breasts, images of his palm resting on the slope of her belly, the idea of his lips following the trail he'd mapped out on her shoulders and neck.

"Yes, she is," she easily agrees.

Mr Bates makes to leave and Elsie speaks, words that are difficult because they address something she is personally unfamiliar with. Because the things between husband and wife are too intimate by far for her to interfere with: "Surely it will be enough to wait and see?"

"What do you mean?"

She must remember he is tired, that he is worried, that men simply never take female trouble into consideration in anything they do (not like women planning around those days they feel unwell, indisposed, unclean and frustrated).

"You'll know if you wait a few weeks. She's been in hospital for a week now and the nurses would have noticed if she'd..." she pauses so she doesn't have to say it. "It will only take another week or two before you'll know."

Mr Bates sighs heavily. "Thank you, Mrs Hughes," he says and makes to leave, but halts, turns again.

"You'll see her this afternoon, I trust?"

"Yes, why?"

"The nurse told me that Anna's mother comes to visit her every day."

Elsie bites her lip.

"And her father comes nearly every day too."

And that's when Elsie grips the back of her chair to hold herself up as Mr Bates stalks off with an enigmatic smile.

* * *

When she visits Anna, her girl is sitting up and is slowly making her way through a plate of bread and cheese.

"I knew you'd come!" Anna says happily. Her mouth doesn't seem to bothering her so much anymore and the angry red rash in the crease of her elbow has gone. Anna's temperature has dropped dramatically and the nurses are very optimistic.

"Of course I've come," Elsie says, but finds herself unable to muster the same level of enthusiasm. She finds she is tired from being on the bus for so long.

"They are letting me go tomorrow, they are just going to feed me up a bit and then release me to Mr Bates's careful hands and Mrs Patmore's cooking."

"That is very good news," Elsie smiles. "You are not getting sick anymore then?"

"Only once this morning, I've felt fine otherwise."

The look in Anna's eyes is difficult to read. "I'll tell Mr Carson and he can ask his Lordship if we may collect you in the car. We can't have you on the bus yet."

She doubts if she can make it home herself, hanging on to the handrail that she can only just reach.

"I hope he won't mind," Anna frowns.

"I doubt it," Elsie says and touches her own cheek. It's warm. Warmer than usual and she closes her eyes. "Anna? I know I've not been here long, but I had better get back. Maybe one or two of the girls will come and visit you tonight, alright?"

She gets up as quickly as she can, picks up her bag, kisses Anna on the forehead and leaves, staying close to the wall of the corridor. Her head is starting to pound. Her throat that only seemed a bit stuffy this morning is starting to ache. She doesn't want to admit to it, but it's plain to her now.

She is falling ill herself.

* * *

When she reaches Grantham House, the stairs to the Servants' Entrance look like a death trap. So she stands there, waiting, watching until she tries to call for help. It hurts, but there's James opening the door, eyeing her and disappearing again.

"Wait!" she calls and coughs.

It hurts. Her head is spinning as well as pounding now and she can tell her temperature is steadily turning into a fever. She has to use all of her willpower to keep standing up.

"Mrs Hughes?"

It's his voice. Soothing and soft. His hands take hold of her shoulders. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I think I caught it, Mr Carson… You shouldn't come too close…"

"I won't catch it, Mrs Hughes. We need to get you into the house and into your bed."

If she did not feel so utterly dreadful, her mind would be flying to all sorts of impossible scenarios in which Mr Carson might end up in there with her, but she is trying her hardest not to collapse.

His hands are warm and steadying, but it's not enough and she drops her bag, her eyes close and she starts to slump. She hears Mr Carson call out to James, telling he must open the front door.

"We can't, Mr Carson…" she tries to form the words, but her lips won't cooperate.

He guides her up the four steps to the house, leads her inside and up the stairs to the attics. She leans against him as he puts his arm around her, supporting her. He opens the door to her room, sits her down on the bed, helps her out of her coat, takes the pin from her hat. He kneels before her, takes off her shoes.

His fingers glide over her stockings.

"I'll call Mrs Patmore," he says and he gently pushes her back into the bed.

The cool of the bedding is wonderful. The smooth pillowcase is freshly laundered.

At least she is not lying in the smell of Lysol.

It's her last coherent thought before falling asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews! I know things seem dire and in this chapter… well… at least we'll get an insight in Elsie's wardrobe. Thank you, Dee, for trashy weird weeks and the ins and outs of drawing the curtains.

* * *

She is shivering. She is so cold and scared and lonely. Something is terribly wrong. Her skin itches; her joints ache furiously. Even her teeth hurt - if such a thing were possible. She is in Mrs Bute's room in Grantham House; that much she knows, but she can't be sure if it's day or night or when the last time was when she had anything to drink.

She is so thirsty.

She scolds herself for not noticing the signs: the lingering fatigue, the strange, red blotch in the crease of her thigh (it's so close to that place where she's been taught never to cast a lingering look - perhaps that is why she didn't notice it until it was too late).

Perhaps it's not so bad as Anna's. She has not been overtired, her worries are few: she is getting on, will she have enough put by to live on? Will her cancer scare leave a lasting mark? Will Mr Carson ever declare himself to her?

Worries she lives with.

She touches her forehead. It's very warm and she tries to turn in the bed, to burrow into the blankets, but they're not warm enough.

Her teeth start chattering.

Her curtains are closed, she sees, which explains why she cannot make out if it is day or night. She wishes she could focus, but she can't. The only thing that keeps coming back is the face of Mr Carson, the memory of his fingers on her stocking, his words: "No. No, I didn't mind." Her thoughts - of holding on to him when they were in the bus, of feeling his breath in her hair, of his arm wrapped around her when he helped her up the stairs earlier - are starting to get jumbled all together.

"God… help me…" she mutters as she starts to fall back into a fitful sleep.

* * *

"Mrs Hughes? Mrs Hughes?"

There is someone calling through the fog and she tries to turn to the sound. "Mrs Hughes? Oh, I am glad you can hear me. The doctor's here."

She feels someone's cool hand on her forehead and pressing against the sides of her sore throat.

"Yes, I'm afraid you were right, Mrs Patmore. Scarlet fever. Can you open your mouth for me, Mrs Hughes?"

Elsie does as she is ordered. She is glad her throat doesn't hurt as much anymore.

"Yes, it's not as bad as all that. Of course the fever is a bit high and I'd recommend plenty of fluids and some cold compresses. And fresh air, if at all possible."

"Well… we can open the window?"

"Anything will do, Mrs Patmore. Now, I know the way, I'll see myself out. But you might want to make Mrs Hughes more comfortable."

Elsie doesn't understand. She is comfortable.

Except for the fact that she is aching all over and people have just been talking over her head as if she weren't there.

She'd also be more comfortable out of her nightgown. It is too long, her legs are getting tangled in it, it's closed too high, suffocating her.

"Mrs Patmore…"

"Mrs Hughes!" The cook is with her in a few strides. "What's the matter?"

"Well, according to the doctor I have scarlet fever," she attempts to joke, but it sounds feeble even to her own ears.

"Don't be daft, Mrs Hughes. It's only a touch of scarletina," Mrs Patmore sounds as forced as she did when Elsie told her of the lump in her breast.

"I'm going crazy in this nightgown," she says. "Will you please help me into my shift?"

* * *

She is warm, too warm and she kicks her blankets away. She pulls at the hem of her shift, pulls it over her thighs, up and up, wriggling to get it out from under her. She'll cover herself again later, when someone comes to check on her. She'll hear their footsteps; she'll be fast enough to pull the sheet up at least.

She is so hot. The neckline of her shift is lower than that of her nightgown; it is made to protect her skin from the painful rubbing of her corset. It still feels too tight and she yanks at it, tearing the worn out fabric.

It's no matter.

She'll mend it when she's better. Or chuck it out: she might get rid of her corset, like the ladies upstairs.

She might wear a brassiere. What would Mr Carson think of that?

Would he be shocked?

At first... Yes, she thinks he will be. But he'll get used to it.

She'll be able to truly feel his touch when he guides her into church, into their pew. She'll feel the warmth, the gentle pressing.

She lets her hand drift to her side, over her hip. She is glad she is not wearing her drawers - they'd be much too hot now too.

She runs her hand to the crease of her thigh, where the offending mark was. She touches it with her fingertips. The skin is smooth. The curls of her sex tickle the back of her hand.

Would Mr Carson ever touch her like this?

* * *

"I'm so cold..." she says and beside her something shifts.

"Charles? Will you hold me please?"

The mattress dips, she curls against him. His arm is around her.

* * *

She knows she must be dreaming, hallucinating even. She is wrapped up cozily in her blankets; she is facing the wall and he is pressed against her back. He lies atop the covers, but his nose is in her hair. Her hair has come loose from her braid and it moves softly as he breathes. His lips are on her shoulder.

She must have torn her shift, the straps never fall down so far. She swallows and finds her throat doesn't hurt very much at all now. She moves tentatively: first her right hand (fingers, wrists, balls it into a fist), then her hips. She bumps into him and he cuddles up closer. Kisses her shoulder, makes a soft, happy sound. His arm wraps around her waist.

She sighs.

If this is the kind of dreaming that comes with the fever, she doesn't mind it much.

* * *

The footsteps that come her way on the landing are not the quick, skittish ones of the assistant cook, but very clearly those of the man she's dreamt of in the early hours just before dawn.

He knocks and she sits up, pulls up the blankets. The right strap of her shift has come off almost entirely and she doesn't want him to see; she is still too worn out to be quick about running to the wardrobe and finding something appropriate, so covering herself will have to do).

"I come bearing gifts…"

He has a tray with a bowl of porridge, an egg, an orange divided in perfect segments.

"Thank you, Mr Carson. You do take wonderful care of me," she says, her voice only slightly hoarse.

"Well, it's because…"

She looks at him, takes in the faint colouring of his cheeks.

"Yes…" She starts to blush herself, "I know."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thank you all for your lovely reviews! There were two questions in the previous chapters and I hope they will be (partially) answered in this installment!

_Warning_: there will be talk of Anna's attack - I have tried to be as sensitive as possible about it and there is nothing about the actual attack in here, but I wanted you to be aware.

Thank you, Dee, for helping me out! One day I will understand the finer subtleties of the English language, until then I am thankful you are here to guide me.

* * *

Though she is gaining strength quickly, Mr Carson keeps bringing her breakfast in bed; this morning is no different. Elsie can hear him humming on the landing and anticipates his knock; she clambers up a bit so she can sit up in bed. The door swings open far enough to let him through and he doesn't close it (always so appropriate, never leaving anything to chance). He puts the tray on her nightstand, draws back the curtains for her, pushes the window open a little bit more, just like a Lady's Maid. He chuckles when she tells him this and even gives her a little wink.

She's taken to wearing her nightgowns again, not wanting to look like a wanton woman, a seductress (though she has dreamed of him curling up beside her almost every night since her feverish night where she thought he had slipped in beside her - _it had been a dream, hadn't it_?).

This morning is particularly fine, the soft sunlight of the early morning streaming into the room, the gentle breeze making the curtains dance. He has pulled the chair close to her bed. They discuss the running of the house. Mrs Patmore and Daisy have asked for a very rare day off to go see Alfred at the Ritz. Anna has almost been restored to full health.

"Anna asks if she can visit with you," he says and he absentmindedly steals a slice of toast off her plate.

"That would be lovely. You said she is feeling very much better?"

"She is. She is looking a bit thin, but Daisy has plans to rectify that," he smiles and she smiles back.

Everything is so easy between them. Suddenly she worries that when she puts on her housekeeper's dress, this will disappear.

"What's the matter, Mrs Hughes?" he asks, pushing a piece of apple towards her with amazing lack of stealth.

"Oh… nothing really. I'm just worried about the future, I suppose."

"Whose future?"

She worries her lip. He's always been the observant one and he's not failing her now.

"Ours," she says, boldly.

"Oh, Mrs Hughes…" he shakes his head. He stands up and bends over her. He kisses the top of her head. "There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about."

* * *

"Someone to see you, Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson's voice rumbles through the door and Elsie puts away her book, her glasses (she doesn't like anyone seeing she needs them, but she supposes there's no real shame in wearing them; it's only a sign of getting on). "Are you feeling up to it?"

"Of course I am, Mr Carson, I'm only recuperating now."

She is glad of some company. She can feel boredom creep up on her swiftly. Her book is lovely; the gentle, patient care of Mr Carson is delightful, but her mind is getting sluggish from lack of use and she doesn't like it at all.

He opens her door and lets Anna go first, who sits down gingerly on the chair. He has a small tray with a pot of tea, two cups, a few slices of cake.

"Mrs Patmore says the pair of you need to get your strength up, so I'm not to take any of this back."

Elsie nods at him; there is such kindness in his eyes as he looks at her, at their girl. It takes her breath away for a moment, that pressure on her breastbone suddenly very evident again. His words of this morning are repeating themselves in her head time after time.

"We'll do the best we can," she promises.

He leaves and Elsie finds Anna busying herself with pouring the tea.

"How are you feeling?" they both ask at the same time and they laugh.

"Better. Much better," Anna admits with a sad little smile.

"Mr Bates told me the doctors were worried you might be expecting. He came to me to ask me if I knew if you were."

Elsie sips her tea, trying to hide her discomfort. She vividly remembers asking Anna what she would do if she were to fall pregnant after Mr Green had forced himself upon her. Anna had said then that she would kill herself. The idea of losing her girl like that still makes her feel sick, the pain too much to bear.

"Well, I'm not."

There is a resigned tone to Anna's voice, bitter almost.

"Do you wish to have a child, Anna? Do you think…" Elsie doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't want to be overly inquisitive, but she wants to show Anna that she is supportive and this subject has so many traps and pitfalls.

Anna nods, almost imperceptibly. "It's just…"

"Yes?"

"It's not been easy, since…"

Elsie understands - or she thinks she might. Anna is trapped in the pain of having been attacked and the feeling she has to do her duty to her husband. Elsie doesn't doubt Anna's love for Mr Bates - or his for Anna. She cannot imagine what her girl is going through and she doesn't know what to say, how to makes things better.

"I mean…" Anna looks up, a tear spilling onto her cheek, the cup rattles against the saucer. Elsie takes it from her hands, puts it on the nightstand as well as her own and opens her arms. Anna practically falls into the embrace, curling up on the bed.

She isn't crying, as Elsie expected she would, but she is just burrowing her face into the softness of Elsie's chest. She holds Anna close and talks to her girl quietly:

"I don't know what to say. But I know Mr Bates loves you very much."

"He does and I love him, but…"

There's this obstacle between the younger and the older woman that they both find difficult to get past.

"He… I mean…" Elsie swallows, thinks of her dreams of Mr Carson, of her wish he would touch her (not even like _that_, but just the soothing feeling of a human being touching another). "He doesn't _hurt_ you, does he?"

Anna shakes her head, not looking up. "No. No, he is very... tender. But it's never going to be like it was before and it's so difficult because I do want it to be …" Anna worries her lip (and Elsie sees herself mirrored in that little gesture).

"There are times I see _him_ and all I can do is scream."

Elsie kisses Anna's hair again and again, rubs soothing circles on her back. If Elsie's thoughts of Mr Carson's kindness can be so vivid that they carry on into the next day, next week, and into her dreams, Anna's horrors must follow her wherever she goes, whatever she does; she cannot truly be free of it. Her careless remark (it was never careless, just poorly thought out; it was her inability to _understand_, her wish to take the pain away) is still haunting her.

* * *

When he comes to collect the cups, Anna has fallen asleep in her arms. She isn't too uncomfortable - supported as she is by the pillows he had plumped for her and Anna being so slight - but she is tired and though she doesn't like to mention it, she needs to use the bathroom.

He understands without needing a word from her.

He gently puts his hand on Anna's shoulder and shakes her softly. "Anna? Anna?"

Anna shrugs, rubs her face against Elsie (a little low on her chest - too low for Mr Carson to be looking, but he is anyway). "Time to wake up…" she says softly.

Anna pulls away. "Oh dear…" she says, her voice thick with sleep. "I am sorry, Mrs Hughes."

"You needed the rest. Now, maybe you should go down and report to Mrs Patmore and Daisy that we are both doing well. Tell them I'll be joining you all for dinner."

When Anna has left, Mr Carson sits down on the bed. "So you'll come downstairs again?"

"Yes, Mr Carson."

"I'm glad," he says and his hand is soft on her cheek.

She holds her breath as he leans in and brushes his lips against hers.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Oh my loves, it's the end of the road for this fic. It's been a lovely journey, hasn't it? In between the gentleness and germs something beautiful bloomed. I truly am so grateful for all your amazing reviews and encouragement.

Thank you, Dee. I think you know how much I appreciate all you have done for me/my fic the past weeks. Thank you.

* * *

"We should get back inside, Mr Carson."

She doesn't mean it, not at all. She wants his arms around her waist forever, she wants him to never stop kissing her, but duty calls (his, not hers; she doesn't have to oversee the serving of this afternoon's tea - they are home, finally, and September is being remarkably good to them, giving them the opportunity to sneak off outside now and then).

"Hmm… You're probably right," he admits, but doesn't move. His hands are holding onto her dress, unwilling to let go.

"No, but really, Charles…"

His name falls from her lips so easily, even with his kiss still lingering.

"Elsie, they can wait five minutes…"

When he uses her name she knows he's fighting his impulse to drop her and run. They are still finding their balance. When darkness falls, things are easy. Their evenings have not changed much: they share glasses of wine, cups of tea. They speak of staffing issues, of illegible ledgers (hers - usually).

Sometimes she finds herself in his lap at the mercy of his tender hands and loving kisses.

They speak of the future sometimes, but not much.

At present they are standing in the fading sunlight in the courtyard, kissing and touching like they are a second housemaid and a young footman falling in love for the first time.

Perhaps they are. Perhaps this is the real thing and Alice and Joe were just youthful mistakes - a mistake Elsie saw in time - telling the good, kind farmer she could not live her life on a farm. Alice was the one who held Charles back until he stitched up the wound that was his broken heart.

His lips are on hers and his scent is in her nose. Their tongues dance, her heart is beating swiftly and her hands travel from his arms to his neck where her fingers find purchase in his hair. There's pomade, but she doesn't care; she only cares that he doesn't stop, and he is turning her, manoeuvring her, making her step back once, twice until the wall is at her back and he presses himself against her. His bulk is heavy against her smaller frame and it's unspeakably erotic to find herself under him this way. It's not too far a stretch of her imagination to see herself under him in bed, white sheets under her and on top of him, his hips caught by her thighs, her breasts against his chest. Her thoughts make her heart pound, a rush of _something_ is between her legs, making her flex and tighten the muscles of her sex.

"Mrs Hughes?" A voice calls from the house.

They break away and smile at each other. He lowers his head to hers and whispers in her ear:

"I think it's time you became Mrs Carson… you know… officially."

His sudden words knock all the sense from her - she does not answer him. She watches him leave (she thinks there might be a spring in his step that wasn't there before, a lightness about him because of what he's just said, and her heart is pounding hard) and she catches his smile when he looks over his shoulder.

* * *

It's late - most of the staff has gone up for a well-deserved night's rest and her sherry stands untouched on the table.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"You're one to ask," he volleys back.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Elsie looks at him. He is on his knees in front of her, her hand in his.

"You got us married off a good while ago. I vividly remember it. There was a nurse, the smell of disinfectant in the air…"

Elsie blushes. She isn't used to the tables being turned, to Charles teasing her. It's making her feel warm inside, tingly. The kind of excited she feels when he presses against her as they kiss.

"You are being very cheeky, Mr Carson."

His other hand is on her thigh. She finds it hard to concentrate; his words are going round in her mind and she wonders if he is really serious.

"Then say you will, Mrs Hughes. Say "I do" and be my Mrs Carson forever, not just in the blinding white halls of the hospital."

Elsie swallows hard. Everything inside her is screaming 'yes', but nothing seems to come from her mouth. All she can do is nod, first almost imperceptibly, then rapidly, biting her lip quite hard to refrain from crying.

He gets back on his feet (they both ignore the cracking sound - it's of no consequence) and suddenly she is in his arms, kissing him and he holds her close.

He sits down and she curls up in his lap - as far as her corset allows, tucking herself into his arms and it's all there:

_His chest to her back._

_His arm around her waist._

_His breath in her hair._

It's as wonderful as she's dreamed it would be, with the added loveliness of it being real. Of his heart pounding steadily under her hand, his lips on her forehead. She leans back a bit - curling up means she is unable to breathe thanks to the unyielding steel boning of her corset and he looks puzzled until she kisses him again.

Quite hard, insistent.

"I love you…" he says and a tear falls on her cheek. He kisses it away.

"I love you too," she whispers.

Their kiss lingers, becomes more heated. His fingers dance over the soft skin of her collarbone and start searching for the fastenings of her dress.

And she lets him, all thoughts of chaste and appropriate courtship have left her. She can feel him grow under her - it's the most thrilling feeling. She grabs hold of his collar, wanting to be closer and while they kiss, she lets out the most wanton moan, surprising herself.

The knock on the door surprises her even more.

* * *

How clear it must be from the way her dress is creased and the shine in Mr Carson's eyes that Anna has interrupted _something. _But Elsie is so pleased to see her girl - her happiness clouding her normally so observant personality.

"Anna!" she says, giddy, her spirits almost too high. "I didnae know you were still here!"

Anna's naughty smirk is only making Elsie feel more wonderful.

"So it's official then?" Anna asks and Elsie's smile bursts free and she grabs Anna's hand.

"He's just asked."

"And you've accepted?"

There's the voice of the Butler and Elsie turns to him, not letting go of Anna.

"She did indeed, Mrs Bates."

His formality makes both women laugh and Elsie pulls Anna into a soft cuddle, her hand on the rosy cheek of the Lady's Maid.

"Should you not be off? Mr Bates will be worried."

"He's waiting for me. He always does when it's dark," Anna explains and the words pull Elsie back to grim reality .

"Best not keep him waiting too long, lass," Elsie tenderly pushes a loose lock of hair behind Anna's ear. "Was there anything that you wanted to discuss, something so important it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

Mr Carson is making himself invisible in the background - he is good at that, but Elsie feels his presence vividly.

"I suppose it could wait until tomorrow, you should be celebrating," Anna says with a soft smile.

"If you've waited all night to talk to me, I'll gladly listen," Elsie says sincerely. Anna's hand is gripping hers tighter.

"Is there anything wrong?" She asks then, worry gripping her again - it seems it's ever present these days.

"Not wrong... And I've wanted to talk to you for a few days now, but I never seem to catch you alone," Anna says with her usual frankness.

"Oh dear, I am sorry. I'll have Mr Carson leave if you want," she offers, throwing Charles a look when he starts protesting.

"No, it's alright. Since you've looked after me so well and we've had our talk and everything and you pretended to be my parents, I just… No, Mr Carson is very welcome to stay..." Anna pauses and Elsie's heart is drumming, she is anticipating the words that come in rapid succession; the sentence falling from Anna's mouth:

"I think I may be expecting."

* * *

THE END


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